Chapter 1 – Smoke clears
A/N: Rustin Cohle/OC. Tried to follow the original timeline as best as I could, but introducing a new character evidently mixed events up. There will be a bit of the crime investigation as well, but since the original story is perfectly potrayed in the series, I wouldn't try to butcher it myself. This is much more of an exploration of an interpersonal dynamic and a love story. This murder case seems to bring people together. Enjoy! (Sidenote: it contains lines from the show itself to place the events into the timeline, but I do not claim ownership over the script. Where things differ and get terrible - that's my work.)
'Hey you were married the once, just the once?'
'Uh-huh. Came close another time.'
'Maggie says he's shy.' Rust heard the girl's words as he approached their table.
'Uhm… I wouldn't say that.' Marty inserted. 'Definitely not shy about speaking his mind.'
It was another nurse Maggie tried to set him up with. She must have enjoyed playing the matchmaker, or rather had this Messiah-complex to iron out Rustin's life. It was her little personal mission to get him a date, even though she was aware he hated every minute of it. In her mind, he just didn't know what's best for him. A woman would turn him around surely, she thought.
'He tastes colours!' Marty exclaimed.
'So… What is synesthesia?' Jessica inquired seriously.
'Synesthesia. It's a misalignment of synaptic receptors and triggers. Alkalis, colours, certain metallics.' Rust began explaining, stumbling upon words, but he regained his confidence as he followed: 'It's a type of hypersensitivity. One sense triggers another sense. Sometimes I'll see a colour and it'll put a taste in my mouth. A touch, a texture, a scent may put a note in my head.'
'I heard that.' Maggie added, turning to her friend. 'It can be a side effect of a statin.'
'This is not a side effe…' Rust began, but was cut off by the black haired girl.
'So, when something feels good, does that mean it feels twice as good?' She gave a shot at flirting. 'Like, from two different ways?'
Marty's wife had a mischevious grin on her face, knowingly glancing at her husband.
It wasn't long until Maggie forced her husband to get on the dancefloor next to them, and she grabbed the opportunity when the blond man arrived back with the beer.
So, he had to dance with Jessica, too. It seemed like a neverending sequence of cramped, uncomfortable swinging. Not because he forgot how to dance; he remembered all too well. No, it was because of unwanted intimacy that was pressured on them by friends and society, and her insistent dialogue that tried so hard to be romantic that ended up to be nothing more than meaningless banter.
Oh. She liked him and he knew.
Finally, the girls left to the ladies' room, Jessica glancing over her shoulder a couple times before disappearing in the crowd. His friend was all too busy with being angry over her sidechick, so Rust was finally left alone.
However, he didn't really had time to rest or gather himself. As he was walking out to the dim tables, a small hand grabbed his, pulling him back to the dancefloor. Wavy, pink hair bounced around her face as she turned to him, expertedly getting them into dancing position with one swift movement - even against his will.
'Excuse me, Miss…' He began, and his voice grew almost furious as he glanced down at the girl.
A weird, sweet taste spread his tongue: the vibrant colour of her hair ignited an unusual process in his body that made him feel like he was drinking raspberry wine. She flashed a smile at him and he was overwhelmed by her strong, spicy perfume. Her satin dress was sleek, but warmed by her body as he unconsciously rested his hand on her waist. Rust could only take a brief look at her intense gaze - hazel eyes, framed by heavy eyeliner and orange makeup -, when someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him away.
'That's my girl you son of a…' the boy punched him.
'Josh, don't!' the girl interveined as she stepped between them, but the guy was huge: he easily brushed her to the side and took a long step towards Rust. He was still a bit dizzy from the hit, but ditched the boy's next attack. The detective hit the boy in the stomach who hunched over, but appeared more infuriated afterwards. Rust punched him in the nose as the boy threw himself at him, but nevertheless, the weight of him pushed both of them to the floor. The slight metallic taste of blood flod his mouth after he bit on his tongue due to the fall. The boy spent no time returning the punches, one hitting Rust at the edge of his jaw, but he himself knocked the boy out for a second as he hit him right on his left ear.
That was right when the owner came around and threw them out of the bar.
'We're not done, you asshole!' The boy threatened him, but left to ride away in his car.
Luckily, despite being a tall, wide man, the boy wasn't the best puncher - all Rust was left with was a scar on his right eyebrow, and a bleeding tongue. His chest wasn't feeling right, but he had worse. The pink-haired girl ran after him, catching him leaning against a bench around the entrance.
'Oh man, I'm so sorry.' She began, examining his bruises, and taking a klenex to wipe the blood off. 'I never imagined this mudafucka to…'
'What was that about?' He asked angrily.
'I'm kinda feeling ashamed of it now that were here…' She made a face to herself, as she followed to clean his face. 'I just… The date wasnt going well.'
He irritatedly brushed her hand away. 'So you decided to get someone else to get rid of him for you?'
'That wasnt… My original plan.'
'Havent heard of saying no?
'Havent heard of men being obnoxiously oblivious to it?' She threw it back quickly.
'Well, you chose a dashing piece, thats for sure.' Rustin commented as he adjusted his jacket and shirt.
'Im not the best at boyfriends.' She confessed, eyeing his movements.
'Your luck is not turning for the better, sweetheart.'
'I kinda hoped it would…' Her mouth spread into a wicked smile.
'Look. I don't know what you had in mind, but I'm not the type to go out with little girls. How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen?' He guessed after scanning her.
'Ouch.' She laughed, fishing out a pack of red Marlboro from the pocket of her dark orange corduroy jacket. She took out a cigarette and placed in in her mouth. 'I guess that's a compliment, but I'm in my twenties.' And with that, she offered him one, too, which he took hesitantly. She began lighting her own, but stopped halfway, and spoke again in a different tone. 'Are you alright?'
'Had worse.' He replied simply, lighting his own cigarette, then offering to light hers. She leaned into the flame and sucked in deeply.
'Sorry for dragging you into it, I really didnt mean to. Hoped it would hurt his ego enough that he'd be off or just pick on me.' The girl explained.
'Well, your calculations were off.'
'Can I make it up to you? Grab a beer?'
'I dont drink.'
'Yet you look like a man who does.'
'Still not interested.'
'Well then how about a little stroll while the owner forgets your face and you can rejoin your friends at the bar? Leannah Williams.' She extended her hand to him, and he shook hands with her.
'Rustin Cohle.'
They walked a little further away, to a quiet street. It almost wasn't a street, just a road lined by trees, and a wall that stretched above a construction site not far from the bayou. She did end up buying two beers on the way there, and opened one up as they settled on the strange wall. She tried to offer him the beer, but he refused.
'So… What do you think bout life? You're working with murder cases - you must have an idea 'bout what preceeds that.'
'I dont think about life.' He took a long drag.
'Oh, you're a liar.' She turned to him, a wicked smile on her face.
'Yeah?'
'There are men who have no brain, and yeah, they are silent, cause they have nothing to talk about. But you; all there is in your eyes are thoughts.'
Rust sighed, turning ahead, away from her. He took a drag of his cigarette, smacking his mouth loudly as he pulled the cigarette away. The lamp above them flickered annoyingly. 'I don't think there's anything to it.'
'Why's that so?'
The man scoffed to himself - as if he couldn't believe he was actually having this conversation with a girl like this. But she was seemingly oblivious to his uncomfort, and swang her legs from the wall, beer in one hand.
'I consider myself a realist.' He grunted.
'Aren't we all?' She smiled at him, and when he turned his head to her, she looked ahead, drinking a gulp of her beer then passing it to him. Rust took it from her hand before pausing halfway, then drank from the bottle himself - he figured, how the night was going down, he might as well. It was ages since he last drank and the liquid was bitter. He savoured her words the same way he was tasting the beer on his tongue as she followed: 'We all see the world though a different lense, each through our own eyes. I wonder if any of us really has an insight into how the world truely is.'
Rust was taken aback. He never would have thought a twenty-something, pink haired girl would have such thoughts or that she would phrase her sentences like that.
'So you're suggesting that we all have an impression about the world… But it is never actually the world around us?'
'Parts of it, glimpses of it… But it's always filled with the projection of the observer. It's like a film. Or a book. A mirror.' She grew visibly excited. It wasn't the type of topic to chirp with her friends about, he thought.
'But we both look at a flower before us and see that it's a flower.'
'And what are your thoughts on the flower?' There was a hint of sly grin at the corner or her mouth as she lit a cigarette herself.
'It's a flower… It has leaves, stems, roots…'
'Yes, they do. But one of us could look at that flower and think 'oh, what a beautiful thing' and the other would just abhore it for the scent, the colour…'
'Still the same flower. What's your point?'
'Is it? Do you have a collegue you hate who has a wife? Do you think the wife's in love with the same person you hate at work?'
He gestured with the beer bottle, and raised one eyebrow. 'Are you suggesting that one person is actually more than one person?'
'No, what I'm suggesting is that your view of a person does not equals that person.' She corrected him. 'As much as what you see in the world and percieve as reality does not equate reality.' She pointed at the beer. 'May I?'
The man eyed her as she drank. Something moved inside him. His chest felt warmer, but it could have been the alcohol.
'Why did you became a detective?' She asked suddenly.
'Mental challenges… Puzzles.' He shrugged.
'Isn't it difficult?' She wondered out loud. 'Placing yourself in the mind of a murderer? Doesn't it drain you?'
'It's no more draining than building a profile on a normal person.' He replied curtly.
'What would you say about me?' She threw it in.
He scanned her for a second, but she didn't became uncomfortable.
'Scottish accent with some slight African American slang and ring to it. Informal phrasing, yet complex thoughts and extensive vocabulary. Slightly slouching. Unusual haircolour. Heavy drinking and smoking. Parents first generation immigrants, but their child a rebel. Nowhere lower then upper middle class. Did dad never care? Had a big fight and they cut off the resources. Now working somewhere that is way under your educational level.'
Leannah stayed quiet longer than usual. She slowly licked her mouth.
'Interesting profile, detective.' She spoke finally. 'But very superficial.'
'Yeah?' He glanced at her with a smile. 'How'd you describe me?'
'A man of thought. Trying to solve the life of others, grasping for control where he can. You're constantly running but never look ahead.' She eyed him closely, almost getting lost in his eyes.
'Interesting profile.' He mimicked her, and drank from the beer in a more relaxed way, almost too naturally. 'But very vague.'
'I guess so.' She laughed, taking the almost empty bottle from him. 'I entertained you long enough. You can go back to your friends, I'm sure they're missing you. Especially that cute lady.'
'I don't think so.' Then, he changed to a more serious tone. 'You need a ride home?'
'I've bothered you enough.' Leah smiled at him gently.
'I insinst.' He breathed out as he stood up, then helped her to her feet.
'Well then I can't refuse the offer.'
Rust parked his red Ford truck in a district that was at best, questionable. Not the worst part of town, but not far from it. He observed her home as she gathered her purse. It was a small and old, but well-kept house. Recently repainted, but by amateur hands.
'What's up with the pearls?' He pointed to the lilac necklace hanging from a bush nearby. The whole street was decorated with knick-knacks.
'Oh, I'm not sure.' She glanced up, but spoke softly. 'Some sort of voodoo.'
'This town is surely into it.' He noted. 'Doesn't it bother you?'
'It's a better culture than narcotics.' She replied, hopping out of the car. She shut the door close, but stepped back up to lean in the window. 'Thanks for the ride, Mr Cohle.'
Rustin watched her walk up to the porch, then disappear behind the white door. He was sure it was the last time he would see those pink locks.